


Ebb and Flow

by fittons



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Fezturion, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Music, despite what that last tag may imply i swear there is no smut in this fic, motherfucking sex music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fittons/pseuds/fittons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory’s always seen some sort of rhythm in the Doctor’s movements. It’s subtle, that he’ll admit – he’s only caught a hint of it once or twice, but once he’s latched on to the theory, it’s hard to shake the feeling that there’s something in the man’s every twist and turn that follows some sort of unseen pattern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebb and Flow

Rory’s always seen some sort of rhythm in the Doctor’s movements. It’s subtle, that he’ll admit – he’s only caught a hint of it once or twice, but once he’s latched on to the theory, it’s hard to shake the feeling that there’s something in the man’s every twist and turn that follows some sort of unseen pattern. 

Even a trip down the stairs seems to follow some sort of beat, like a samba urging each clumsy footfall down to the ground. Despite his claims that most of what he does to be an accident, Rory can’t help but feel that the time lord’s every breath is placed at a perfect interval; that the throb of his hearts never deviate from a fixed pattern, even at their most heated moments together. 

As he watches the Doctor whirl around the console – slamming levers, pushing buttons, flicking switches – he feels that sensation again, creeping all the way up his goosebump-layered spine and laying to rest in the back of his mind. He considers the impossible presence as the other man continues to slide and sway about the centre of the TARDIS, his tongue caught between his lips in a ridiculously concentrative hold.

That rhythm is there right now – Rory can see it. He can even hear it, if he closes his eyes – shuffle, hop, sidestep-step, shuffle, hop, sidestep-step. It keeps repeating and repeating until Rory can’t focus on anything else, and suddenly he realises he’s clinging onto the rails just a little too tight, and he can’t stop thinking, can’t stop hearing that rhythm, that beat, that – that – 

“Rory!” With a jolt, his eyes snap open and lock a bolting green stare onto the Doctor’s mossy gaze, immediately noting the concern present in his ancient eyes. He suddenly feels the barrier digging into his hands (or is it the other way around?) and releases his grip quickly, averting his gaze to the ground. Feeling a finger lifting his chin, he concedes and allows his eyes to drift once more back to the other man’s, feeling his body become weightless. The softness of the Doctor’s face never fails to affect him – after hundreds of years of death and loneliness, he always expects his face to be hard and worn. But it never seems to be.

“Sorry, I – I just got a bit carried away. With my thoughts.” The Doctor cocks an eyebrow and smirks at this, all concern flooding from his face into his eyes. Rory can see it all in the blink of an eye; it’s like seeing a blue sky become grey within seconds. But the Doctor’s charade is fantastic – he’s had years of practice. 

“Of course! We all do, Rory, we all do.” He claps Rory on the shoulder and offers him a broad beam, and Rory somehow manages to return a seemingly wide smile as reassurance. All at once, the Doctor’s hopped off to the console again, and Rory’s body is filled with tension and excitement, waiting for that rhythm to begin again, waiting for it to lull him back into a senseless peace of unconsciousness. 

But this time, it isn’t what he expected.

As the Doctor begins once more to slide smoothly about the dials and lights, Rory finds himself tapping his finger on the barrier. Nothing of note; simply an action of habit. He’s been doing it ever since he taught himself the guitar when he was a boy, and he’s been unable to stop tapping ever since. But it’s when he notices that he’s tapping to the rhythm of the Doctor’s movements that he feels himself go a little lightheaded.

Of course. Of course that’s what it was – not just a meaningless pattern, not just some random rhythm occurring once, twice a day. The Doctor’s moving to a constant melody, a continuous symphony running through his entire body and enveloping his every action. And this time, it’s flowing so strongly throughout the room that Rory can feel it – a vibration stirring up the air; a low hum, evolving the room’s atmosphere into something much more intimate. 

Rory only notices that he’s moving when he’s halfway across the room, and when he traces a finger along the Doctor’s neck and draws his face around to meet his own, he has no intention of calling the symphony to a halt. 

And when he feels their lips brush fleetingly – just before he pulls him in for a crushing, colossal kiss – he can almost hear the ebb and flow of the melody playing along their skin.


End file.
